


(what a waste of) a lovely night

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [177]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Bars and Pubs, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 17:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18286619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: Frankly, Merlin's feeling nothing. Or it could be less than nothing. Either way he definitely doesn't want Arthur Pendragon to sit with him, but he happens to be seated across from the only empty chair in the room.





	(what a waste of) a lovely night

**Author's Note:**

> You know where the title is from. 
> 
> I regret nothing.

 

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

 

Merlin looks up and promptly chokes on his drink as he recognises the man now standing in front of him. Arthur Pendragon—blond, blue-eyed and a complete and utter wanker, in Merlin’s considered opinion—narrows his eyes at this reaction but doesn’t withdraw, one hand resting on the top of the seat opposite Merlin.

 

“It’s about to be,” Merlin hedges. He doesn’t have anything against Arthur _per se_ —they have mutual friends, and the day he'd spilled scalding coffee all over Merlin’s shirt is long in the past—but that doesn’t mean he wants to be consigned to sit with the bloke for the rest of the night. “Can’t you find somewhere else?”

 

“There is nowhere else.” Arthur’s tone makes it clear that this is definitely _his_ last choice in this situation also. “It’s packed.”

 

Merlin looks around, and to his dismay he finds that Arthur’s statement is more or less true. There are a few empty seats at a table near the front, but as Merlin watches these are occupied by a group of giggling and quite possibly drunk twenty-somethings who can’t seem to disentangle their arms from one another long enough to sit down. Arthur follows Merlin’s gaze and grimaces.

 

“Seriously,” he says. “I don’t want to sit with you, either, but there’s literally no other free seat in the house.”

 

“Fine.” With a sigh, Merlin gestures for him to sit down, pushing his own seat back reflexively and picking up his beer. Just because he’s sitting with the man, doesn’t mean he has to talk to him, right? “Go ahead.”

 

Arthur snorts and sits down in the seat opposite him. “Don't sound so enthusiastic about it.”

 

“I’m not.” Merlin meets Arthur’s glare with his own. “I was hoping to have the table to myself.”

 

“Well, I’m sorry to have spoiled your evening,” Arthur says sarcastically. “This isn’t exactly what I intended, either.”

 

Merlin has nothing to say to that, so he says nothing, turning away to watch the band setting up on stage. He has no idea who they are—it had been a spur of the moment decision, to go out instead of moping around at home for a change, and he’d headed for _The Rising Sun_ purely because it was familiar, and he knew they had his favourite beer on tap. As it turned out, they also had live music nights every Thursday, although Merlin had never had cause to wonder about this before.

 

The band is busy testing out their instruments when Arthur clears his throat, and Merlin turns reluctantly to look at him.

 

“So,” he says, settling his elbows on the tabletop. “You come here often?”

 

For a second, Merlin only blinks at him. Is he—is Arthur seriously trying to pick him up, or is that an honest question?

 

“Yes, I do,” he says finally, deciding to assume the latter until proven otherwise. “My flat isn’t far away, and I like the atmosphere. I _usually_ like the atmosphere,” he corrects, glancing over at the corner. A discordant whining sound has started up, setting his teeth on edge. “I’m afraid this music isn’t really my thing.”

 

“Mine either,” Arthur admits, with a lopsided grin that definitely doesn’t make Merlin’s insides flip over. “I was supposed to meet my sister, but she stood me up at the last minute. Didn’t even bother to text me until I was already here, the harpy.”

 

Merlin smiles a little; he knows Morgana, enough to know that she had probably done that deliberately, to get back at her brother for some slight—real or imagined. It’s how the two of them operate.

 

“I was hoping for a relaxing night out,” he admits, making a face. “But apparently, I picked the wrong evening.”

 

Arthur winces as a particularly painful _twang_ comes from the opposite corner. “You can say that again.” He finishes his own drink and sets it down, looking at Merlin’s nearly-empty glass with a speculative eye. “What do you say we get out of here?”

 

This time, Merlin really does laugh. “What?”

 

“Seriously. Not for any—not for, like, a romantic reason,” Arthur hastens to add, apparently understanding Merlin’s confusion. “Just—look, neither of us are enjoying the place, and neither of us have plans for the evening, so maybe we could just…hang out for a bit? I know we don’t usually get on very well, since for some reason you seem to be nursing this grudge against me, but…”

 

“I don’t have a grudge!” Merlin protests, his mouth dropping open at the unfairness of this statement. “You’re the one who keeps on making snide remarks whenever you see me!”

 

“Snide remarks?” Arthur looks mystified. “Merlin—I’m _teasing_. Have you never heard of teasing before?”

 

“Of course I’ve heard of it. But teasing is supposed to be funny." He frowns. "You make jokes about my ears.”

 

“I’m sorry.” To Merlin’s absolute astonishment, Arthur actually seems to mean it. “I guess I should have realised they might be a sensitive subject, but I honestly didn’t mean anything by it—I like your ears.”

 

“You like my ears,” Merlin repeats stupidly, and Arthur flushes.

 

“Yes? They’re cute.” He bites his lip. “Look—are you saying that all of this,” he gestures between the two of them, “is because you don’t get my sense of humour?”

 

“Because I don’t _like_ your sense of humour,” Merlin corrects, but he can feel himself blushing. It honestly hadn’t occurred to him that Arthur’s constant commentary on his likes, dislikes, appearance and manners might be anything other than mean-spirited, but now that he thinks about it…Arthur had always delivered it with a slight smile on his face, and his tone…”Oh my god. Were you _flirting_ with me?”

 

Arthur throws up his hands. “ _Now_ he gets it!”

 

“And I thought _I_ was terrible at romance,” Merlin says, grinning for the first time that evening. “You’re a disaster, Pendragon.”

 

Arthur doesn’t seem particularly discouraged by this assessment. “And yet,” he says, standing up and offering Merlin his hand. Merlin shrugs and takes it. “You're not saying no.”

 


End file.
